


Another normal Friday.

by RussianSunflower3



Series: Sunflower's Iwaizumi week 2016 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Day 3, Gen, Iwaizumi Week 2016, Silly moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianSunflower3/pseuds/RussianSunflower3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Iwaizumi gets tired.<br/>And when he gets tired, he gets... <em>Silly.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Another normal Friday.

_“I have to put the shoe in the bowl.”_ It’s four in the morning and Iwaizumi is in the sale isle at the local 24 hour Konbini. He’s looking at the shelf in front of him that continues a large, bright red salad bowl, but he’s sure he could use it for something else. And right now, the thought keeps flitting around his head as he looks from the bowl on the shelf to the shoes in his basket.

_“I **have** to put the shoe in the bowl.”_ Iwaizumi takes the bowl off the shelf and tucks it under his arm as he heads to the checkout area. He exchanges pleasantries with the checkout staff member and starts to pack his bags, hesitating as picks up the shoes. He glances towards the cashier, but he’s pretty _sure_ this guy has seen weirder things. So, he takes one shoe off the hook it’s on, and puts it in the salad bowl.

Iwaizumi walks out into the dead of night with three full plastic bags in one hand, and a bowl with a single shoe in it in the other. Not just any shoe, either. A _gardeners_ shoe, like a wellington boot but it stops just below the ankle. 

The truth is; putting a shoe in a bowl isn’t the stupidest thing that’s ever crossed his mind. He’s thankful that these ‘silly moments’ tend to happen in the early morning or twilight hours. It’s easy to sneak out the house, there’s no one to see him, and he can freely do what he likes. Of course, he’s sacrificing precious sleep for this, which then cascades into more silly moments from tiredness. It’s a downwards slope, and Iwaizumi sighs.

“Now I have a pair of shoes and a bowl I didn’t want... Great.” He’s just lucky that he remembered to get the rest of the shopping, to save his mother going out the next day. Or, at this time, in a few hours. Sneaking back inside, Iwaizumi packs away the shopping items, and takes the extra items up to his room for hiding. He makes a note to give them away as joke presents. 

The bowl, he could probably give to Hanamaki. Matsukawa might actually appreciate the gardening shoes, if he could gift it at the right time. For now though, the large items are deposited in a box hidden in the back corner of his wardrobe. He’s pretty sure his mother thinks it’s a wank bank, with piles of saucy magazines and a few usable items. Iwaizumi’s never found the self-confidence to correct her. He’d rather she thought he was doing ‘healthy’ teenage things, rather than heading out to random places at 3 to 4 in the morning on a school night.

Iwaizumi lies back down in bed and closes his eyes with a large yawn. Tomorrow is going to be a challenge to keep his eyes open and his brain functioning normally.

“Hajime, your alarm is going off. Hajime. _Hajime_!” He groans and rolls over, away from the hands that shake his shoulder, but there’s a small gap between his bed and the wall and Iwaizumi finds himself wedged in the space. 

“...” He hears his mother snort. Then giggle. Then muffled laughter comes from behind her hand as Iwaizumi attempts to wriggle his way out of the gap. 

“Mum! Don’t just stand there; help me!” She snorts again with much hilarity, and with one tug, pulls the bed away from the wall. Strength was synonymous with the Iwaizumi family name, his mother’s side, since his father – who broke off the engagement - had left before he was born. Iwaizumi Yumio, name meaning Archery/bow; Hero/manly, had raised her son alone with nothing but love, common sense, and a militant strength. Hajime had been so inspired by the determination and strong-will of his mother, along with her brutal muscles, he had trained himself from a young age to be just like her.

That wasn’t helping him much right now. He groaned in pain and rubbed at his nose, which had impacted the floorboards, whilst his mother _still_ laughed. He sat up in place and glared towards her, before climbing over his bed and pushing it back in place, as close to the wall as it would possibly go.

“Thanks. No, really, thanks. I’m glad my morning mishaps amuse you so greatly.” Yumio flippantly waved a hand in his direction, calming herself down.

“Your alarm went off ten minutes ago, honey. I was just making sure you got up.” She thrust his uniform into his arms and left the room quicker than Iwaizumi could process. His eyes were heavy with tiredness and no matter how much he blinked, tingly and sore. He was well aware this was probably due to his trip last night, which took an _hour_ longer than he had expected.

“Iwa-chan~!” He’s halfway through changing, just buttoning up his shirt, when he hears Oikawa thudding up the stairs. Usually, he’d slam his door until he’s finished changing, but Iwaizumi feels a strange surge of hyperactivity.

_“Oh no.”_ He feels the silliness bubble up inside him and twitch at his lips just as Oikawa stops in the doorway.

“Good morning, Iwa-chan!” Leaving his shirt partially unbuttoned, Iwaizumi whips his upper body round to Oikawa with a dramatic ‘pam!’, as if he’s a model on a runway. Oikawa blinks with a blank face, stunned into silence, and Iwaizumi dissolves into snickers. He turns back around to finish buttoning up to the collar.

“Good morning, Oikawa.”

“What.”

“What?”

“What. You just. I mean.”

“Spit it out, dumbass, we don’t have all day.” Iwaizumi feels the tips of his ears burning red in embarrassment. His brief moment of adrenaline-fuelled silliness has long faded and now he is left with regret. Oikawa clears his throat.

“We should get going. You’re late!”

“I would have been waiting for you anyways.”

“Uh, no! I’m right here! ... Iwa-chan, have you hit your head recently? Are you okay?” Iwaizumi scowls, pulling on his blazer and pushing past Oikawa with rapid steps.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep too well.”

“Oh no! You’ll still be awake enough to practice, right?!”

“Of course I will, idiot! Do I _look_ like I’m about to drop dead?!”

“... For my own safety, I refuse to answer.” Yumio heard the boys approaching and rolled her eyes with a fond smile, setting two plates on the table with jam spread toast. Oikawa always ate around theirs in the morning, in the same way that Iwaizumi always received a bento from the Oikawa’s for lunch. It was their routine, a finely achieved balance from shared parenting. In a way, Hajime and Tooru had two mums, although they always referred to one of them as Aunty.

Once they had finished wolfing down the toast, the boys politely bowed their thanks and left for school. Iwaizumi finds himself occasionally having an odd or silly thought, but he manages to hold back any remarks most of the way through practice. He wonders what the others would have said if he’d actually spoken them aloud. 

He’d caught sight of Yahaba’s trainers, with a bright blue streak across them and had thought _“The flashier your shoes, the better people will think you are.”_

Watari had made an amazing save, and Iwaizumi’s passing reflection on how he was one of the highest skilled libero’s around had turned into a mini-montage in his head of all the possible pronunciations of his position. Particularly, he on stuck on Li-Bear-O, so now he had an image of a sun bear in Aobajosai uniform and he had to take a break mid-game to ‘get a drink’. 

During serving practice, he’d _almost_ blurted it out. Kunimi was being a little lazier than usual, too bothered by the heat to dedicate himself to practice, and his serve had barely gotten over the net. Iwaizumi opened his mouth to give him encouragement, but frantically closed it again when _“If I wanted a soft serve, I would have gone to Dateko.”_ danced on the tip of his tongue.

It’s right at the end when everything goes to hell. He’s too wrapped up in thinking about the terms different countries use for positions and wondering _why_ , that he misses the incoming spike to his face. 

“Iwaizumi!” He’s still standing, blinking and swaying lightly from the force of it as Hanamaki guiltily ducks under the net to come over to him. Iwaizumi looks to the ball in a daze, noticing it’s bounced off his face and out of bounds. He holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“No touch.” Hanamaki freezes just before putting a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder to check he’s okay. And he blatantly decides, from that statement, that Iwaizumi is _not_ okay. The ball had smacked him hard enough to leave a red mark on his cheek and he thinks Iwaizumi’s nose is starting to dribble blood from the left nostril too. His hand lands flatly on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Coach, can we get a medic over here?” Iwaizumi snaps back into some kind of semblance.

“No! No, I’m good. I meant don’t touch my face, not- not that I didn’t touch the ball.” Hanamaki raises a thin eyebrow, proving just how stupid that lame excuse is, and Iwaizumi sighs when he notices Irihata checking through the medical kit. Mizoguchi is absent, so he must have gone to fetch some ice. Or the school nurse, considering how he’s pretty sure the others think he’s concussed or going mad.

“Iwaizumi, get over here.” He grumbles under his breath, but Hanamaki gives him a gentle push towards the Coach and Iwaizumi trundles over. He sits on the bench Irihata points to and follows through all the standard procedure; following a light with his eyes, touching his nose then Irihata’s flat palm, and answering basic questions about how he was feeling, his name, age, location, and the rest of his classes for the day.

All seems to be in order, so when Mizoguchi returns with an ice pack, Iwaizumi is told to break for ten minutes before he can rejoin the _light_ exercises. He doesn’t think to mention his current lack of sleep and coinciding silliness as a thing that’s been happening all his life. 

Because all it takes is a yawn and rubbing at his tired eyes whilst commenting how he has ‘bags like omelettes’, and Matsukawa is steering him off the court and back to the bench. He gives Iwaizumi a serious look that means he won’t stand for any form of protest. 

“... Fine. I’m telling you, I’m not concussed, but I’ll sit here if you’re all going to worry like a rocking chair.” Practice continues on, and Iwaizumi knows he’s either got to nap soon, or he’ll transcend exhaustion and reach peak levels of hyperactivity. The last time that happened, his mother came downstairs to find him sitting on the kitchen floor with socks on his hands, pyjama bottoms shredded from ankle to knee, and a paper crown on his head whilst he ate marshmallows he had melted in the microwave with a fork. 

Yeah, he wasn’t too keen on repeating that, especially not in front of the team. Unfortunately...

“Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi, open your eyes. Don’t you dare drift off. You know as well as anyone that it’s dangerous.”

“But I’m _not_ concussed!” He folded his arms and closed his eyes despite the Coaches warning, and whilst he knew he was going to get told off, he wasn’t going to delve into any more silly moments.

15 minutes later found him lying on his front in the changing room humming Estonian lullabies into the floor. Slightly scared and concerned, the other third years had rushed the underclassmen out, stating that they would take care of the situation. Oikawa kneeled in front of Iwaizumi, frowning as he tried to get Iwaizumi to lift his head with no avail. 

“Iwa-chan, come on. You can’t possibly be able to breathe like that.”

“I’m _photosynthesising._ ” Hovering nearby, Matsukawa threw his hands up in exasperated surrender.

“It’s been ten minutes now, can we just pick him up and go?”

“Mattsun, have some respect!” Iwaizumi lifts his head just enough to mutter;

“Respect the dead.” Hanamaki breaks into cackles at the deadpan tone, but cuts himself off with a cough and guilty expression.

“Seriously though, Iwaizumi, we have class in about four or five minutes.” They pester him until the bell rings, and Oikawa is the first to leave. Despite his concern, Class 6 has a test today and he cannot afford to be late. Matsukawa sits on the side, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I seriously can’t believe you’re more of a pain than us. All we had to do was smack you in the face with a ball.”

“Can you get up now? We can take you to the nurse’s office.” No reply comes. Cautiously, Hanamaki leans over and pokes Iwaizumi in the side. With no aggravated response, he rolls Iwaizumi over.

“Oh my god, Matsukawa. He fell asleep.”

“On the changing room _floor_? Is he insane?!”

“Naaaah. Pretty sure today is just one of those days.” Hanamaki shoots a half-grin in Matsukawa’s direction, who can’t fight back a small smile of his own.

“He’s gonna wake up with no memory of this, is he?”

“Same as every Friday~. Just this time, there really was a cause for concern.”

“We should’ve known better. After all, Iwaizumi has the most meme-able silly moments.” They snigger in unison, before deciding they probably should do something about their friend, and manage to get him on Matsukawa’s back. 

Iwaizumi wakes up in the nurse’s office with an aching cheek from his early impact, and the dreaded sense that he did something he’ll regret, but he has no memory past being benched. He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It’s the price he pays for his exhaustion, but he knows somewhere in the back of his mind that tonight is going to be another night time walk until he collapses for all of Sunday.

Then, the cycle repeats. It’s just harmless silly moments, he tells himself. As long as he just keeps it a secret from the team, he can live with that.

(Little does he know, he’s essentially a living meme on Hanamaki’s twitter.)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by own midnight shopping adventures.  
> And believe me, cashiers have seen so much weirder than a shoe in a bowl.


End file.
